


Rows of Numbers

by Immicolia



Series: Displaced-verse [8]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: AIs attempting to understand humanity and failing, M/M, Other, anniversary fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immicolia/pseuds/Immicolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been one year, and understanding of the simplest things are still annoyingly beyond Tsukumoya's reach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rows of Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> May 8th of last year I started posting the giant mess that is "Displaced" on the kinkmeme and in a fit of whimsy I decided that I wanted to write some kind of an anniversary fic. And then it turned from cute one year nonsense into my usual sad robots nonsense. Also as soon as I finished it I decided that I didn't want to wait until the 8th to post it and decided to post it for Izaya's birthday instead....... even though it is pretty much entirely about Tsukumoya. Oops.

It's been a year.

It's been a year and Tsukumoya's life has taken on a strange sort of domesticity that he never quite imagined possible, even in those first few days when he had decided that keeping this body would be an interesting experience.

If anything there has always been a part of Tsukumoya that believed eventually he would tire of the game. He isn't a part of this world and his nature will always be to sit back and quietly observe. Actually getting close to all of the things he watches has never held any appeal to him. The body was simply an option, an occasional diversion, that's all he ever meant for it to be.

And it likely that's all it would have been, if it weren't for Izaya. Izaya is the anomaly that continually snatches his attention and holds it close. He always has, as loath as Tsukumoya might be to admit it, and quite possibly always will. Sharp and interesting and _dangerous_ enough that Tsukumoya can't quite look away. Fixated into a strange sort of back and forth, a twisted up game where they tease one another to see who will react first.

Tsukumoya is well aware that in the midst of all of this he's grown strangely clingy.

It's a curious fact that no matter how much of a mere "observer" he may act like, as soon as he was able to physically interact with things Tsukumoya found himself becoming quite fixated on sensation, or more his own personal lack thereof. Maybe Izaya is to blame for that as well because in the dead of night he nuzzles against Izaya and plays with the man's fingers and strokes his hair, almost childlike in how carefully he studies every reaction to his curious touches. Cataloguing breathing and heart rate and skin temperature, everything he can to get a sense of how these things feel.

More than anything Tsukumoya needs to _know_ things. He is well aware of this particular quirk that verges on obsession and the fact that there are some things that he may never understand frustrates him to no end. He doesn't have a heart that quickens with the faint brush of fingers against skin. He can't even really register a touch beyond the general _idea_ that he is making contact with something. Everything about him is smooth and plastic and false, his reactions cool and analytical. Pressure under his fingertips make up one line of numbers, temperature another, slight variances in textures are a third. Bits of data pieced together into something abstract to be studied but never quite understood.

It's frustrating to no end not being able to feel any more than that.

Every touch of his fingers against Izaya's skin is like this. Raw data to be analyzed in a split second and filed then acted upon. This specific type of contact makes Izaya's heart rate quicken, his breath increase, his temperature rise, better try it again. Better keep doing it because the way Izaya moves and twists and _reacts_ to things is fascinating in and of itself. Something Tsukumoya can never quite get enough of and he will sit back and leave Izaya gasping on the edge of orgasm for as long as possible

It's only in his palms and fingertips that this complicated sensor array even exists. To make sure that he (or whatever intelligence had been intended for this body before he had acquired it) can regulate his grip appropriately but nothing else. Otherwise he can't feel anything and even what he can sense through his hands is nowhere near enough. Nothing but numbers. Line after line of numbers, even if those tiny sensors in his fingertips are sensitive enough that he can feel the flutter of Izaya's pulse, it's all just more and more numbers.

He doesn't like to dwell on impossibilities but more and more Tsukumoya can't stop himself from wondering what it would be like to actually _feel_ something. To understand physical contact as something more than an abstract string of data.

So he keeps pushing Izaya to the edge. Keeps watching. Even though he knows it's entirely illogical. That no matter how many times he does this, no matter how many times he watches Izaya twist and writhe and scream as he comes, he will never quite understand what the man is going through. It will always be miles outside of his grasp, but seeming close enough to touch. As close as Izaya's skin and the sensation of the man's pulse fluttering just underneath his fingertips.

And it's maddening.

On a clinical level Tsukumoya understands _why_ Izaya squirms and moans and hisses at him to stop when his hands roam a little bit too far. But he'll never quite know how it _feels_ to have an entirely involuntary reaction. To lose control. The closest he's come is the few and far between times when Izaya has pressed a taser to the port on his spine and the electrical interference left him trembling and barely able to think. But even still it's not quite the same. It's sharp and abrupt and confusing. Izaya asked him once if it was like an orgasm and he hates having to admit that he has no idea.

He needs more points of reference, so he skims his hands up and along Izaya's body and watches, trying to learn. A faint, unconscious, frown creasing his brow as he keeps measuring and collecting and crunching every possible data point. As if he can somehow magically find the formula that is the key to all of this if he just observes enough.

Even if it is an impossibility.

It's been a year. He _knows_ it's an impossibility. But it's because of this impossibility that Tsukumoya now spends nearly as much time in that body as he does in his more natural state. Curled into bed with Izaya almost every night now, still trying to make sense of it all.

Izaya thinks it's funny. Murmuring purring taunts against the shell of Tsukumoya's ear while they lie curled together in the dark after sex. How, "I never would have imagined you'd be so inclined to cuddling~" and even though Tsukumoya grimaces at every teasing word, he can't quite stop himself. His fingers tracing absent patterns on Izaya's skin and he picks apart the row of numbers such contact paints in the back of his mind.

It's become soothing in a way, these moments of stillness. Where he is disconnected from everything save for the inputs in front of him and there is nothing to focus on save for Izaya. Izaya and attempting to parse the human condition.

It's likely a dangerous obsession, getting this involved. But all the same Tsukumoya can't quite stop himself.

He can't stop himself and he's not sure that he even wants to try.


End file.
